


Count On It

by asuwuka



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bill Cipher is a Jerk, Blood and Injury, Canon Divergence - A Tale of Two Stans, Demonic Possession, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Filbrick Pines' Bad Parenting, Ford Pines Needs a Hug, Ford Pines is a Jerk, Gen, Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Torture, Minor Injuries, Mullet Stan Pines, Mystery Trio, References to Depression, Stan Pines Needs A Hug, Unicorns are jerks, he gets better though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27019066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asuwuka/pseuds/asuwuka
Summary: After receiving an angry phone call from his mother, a very unwilling Stanford Pines decides to track down his twin brother (in hopes) to reconcile their damaged bond that had only gotten worse over the years.Meanwhile, Stanley Pines is doing just fine- thank you very much.(He's not.)
Relationships: Ford Pines & Stan Pines
Comments: 19
Kudos: 101





	1. And So She Called

**GRAVITY FALLS, OREGON**

The cold, hurdling winds of a snowstorm made a loud _thump_ as it banged against the cabin windows. Frost had begun to etch itself onto the glass, the bitter coldness sweeping through the small town of weirdness in a hurry.

A yellow light filled the window panes, clashing against the moody gray, cloud-filled skies, creating a cozy atmosphere for those inside.

It was anything but.

“Stanford Filbrick Pines! What do you mean you haven’t talked to your brother in 10 years? Huh?” a very angry woman on the other end of the receiver yelled, a thick New Jersey accent lacing the scolding. Her voice had gotten noticeably higher, and by the last syllable, was increasingly loud.

“Ma- _please_. I’ve been very busy, and-” the man, Stanford Pines, was pinching the bridge of his nose. Three fingers out of six were currently tapping against an oak wood desk that held the phone. He had work to do- to catch up on, especially- with Fiddleford, and he could not be wasting his time with unimportant matters.

Especially since he had the portal to continue. He was going to change the world, was he not? But here he was, being scolded by his mother as if he were a child again, a tooth-gapped Stanley by his side.

Right, Stanley.

“Honey, I know you’re busy studying your anomalies ‘n all, but would it kill you to at least check up on him every once in a while? I know you two didn’t part on good terms, but…” Ma Pines’ voice trailed off, an indistinguishable tone of regret filling her words.

Ford scoffed. His young twin brother had practically ruined his future. What kind of talk would he make with the other man? Ford was fine with leaving Stan out of the picture for 10 years, it would not hurt to extend that time. “Ma, I’m not exactly happy with him.” he finalized, mouth shaping into a thin line.

“Stanford, honey, if you won’t do it for yourself- can you at least do it for me? Please? Give this old woman one last wish before she passes on.” Ma strained on, sounding tired, and Ford briefly remembered just how old his mother was. “I’m not getting any younger, hun.”

The scientist furrowed his brows, letting out a deep sigh. It was true. His mother was aging, and she would eventually leave this world. It was only fair to her that he fulfilled her request, and he did love his mother very much so. “...I’ll… I’ll see what I can do,” he replied a little hesitantly. 

He could practically see his mother perking up, a sight that made him warm with joy. “My little genius! Thank you! Do you need his address, baby? I have it written down here somewhere…” he could hear the other line pick up noises, probably his mother shuffling around to find information on his twin.

Stanford just hoped he wouldn’t regret this.

* * *

By nightfall, the snowstorm outside had since then calmed down. Falling powder of snowflakes gently descended onto the already blanketed, snowy grounds. It covered the town like a huge, white sheet, draping over onto the forest trees and smoking chimney rooftops.

Fiddleford McGucket sat inside the kitchen, his borrowed books neatly stacked on one end of the table and research papers on the other. The skinny scientist was currently hunched over a notebook, pencil tapping muffled by the lined grids of paper.

“Find anything wrong?” a voice queried, the man in question holding a mug filled to the brim with dark coffee. He took a chair, placing it near the other male to work on something else.

“What? No,” Fiddleford replied, seemingly entranced by the written equations. He would slowly turn the page, chewing the inside of his cheek as he did so. Something felt _off_ \- but he couldn’t quite place the feeling, or understand why his stomach suddenly felt queasy with anxiety.

Stanford hummed. His body felt dizzy and the migraine in his head was pounding, but such is the price to pay when you’re going to change the world. Sleep was, exponentially, for the week. Ford had been living off of coffee for the past few days. His schedule was abstractly normal (for him, anyway.) Work on his equations, continue work on the portal, write in his journal, interact with his muse… normal stuff.

Ford’s thoughts were interrupted by his partner’s confused voice. “-Ford? Are you even listening to me?” the Southern man inquired, giving him a questioning glare. 

“Hm? Oh, what was that, Fiddleford?” Ford did not bother to return his stare, instead finding his journal notes much more interesting.

“I asked you if you came up with these yourself. This is practically other-worldly, Stanford. I think-” Fiddleford was cut off by Stanford’s disruptive chuckle, which in turn gained a raised brow.

“This again? I’ve already told you, Fiddleford. These are mine, and mine alone. Do you honestly think anybody else in this town has the intellect to even _comprehend_ these calculations?” Of course, Ford hated lying to his friend, but it was the only way that the Southerner would help him with the transdimensional machine. Besides, what harm would a little white lie do? On the bright side, it would tremendously heed dimensional knowledge and could even bring to advance their society. 

**_“JUST THINK ABOUT IT, SIXER!”_** _Bill had cheerfully exclaimed, one lengthy black arm resting on his shoulder._ ** _“YOU’LL BE THE MAN WHO CHANGED THE WORLD.”_**

_Ford blinked, staring out onto the Jersey shore of Glass Shard Beach. The creaking of the swingsets grew distant as he focused on only Bill’s flattering words._

**_“YOU JUST HAVE TO TRUST ME.”_** _Blue flames engulfed his vision, surrounding Stanford in the undoubtedly trusting fire._

Fiddleford’s brow creased, still in obvious doubt. However, he was smart enough to not push the subject and instead move onto something else. “Right… well, is there anything else you want me to check? I’d like to sleep in early tonight,” for emphasis, the assistant began to rub his eyes tiredly.

“-Yes, yes. I have some more papers here for you,” Ford would reply, distracted. He slid his dog-eared papers forward, downing the rest of his black coffee.

Stanley would probably hate black coffee.

That’s right- _Stanley._ A tidal wave of emotions began to swirl in his brain, an emotional imbalance of bittersweet angry and yearning sadness forming the more he thought of his twin.

Stanley was fine. Ford was fine. They were fine without each other, so why did Ma-? 

Stanford sighed, running a hand through his chocolate brown dark curls. Stanley would have to wait, at least until tomorrow morning. As much as he opposed the idea of sitting down and calling his estranged twin brother, the idea had come from his mother, and he would be a fool to oppose his mother.

  
He _really, really_ hoped he did not regret this.


	2. And We're Both Very Tired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stanley receives a letter, Stanford and Fiddleford have a long talk.

Stanley felt like shit.

Truth be told, he’d always felt like that; at least to some extent. 

Stan would bring his hands up to his face, rubbing his forehead in frustration. He would soon be evicted from his apartment in approximately 4 days, and he had no time to sign up for the underground ring for quick cash. _It’s probably for the best,_ he mused bitterly, remembering the purple eye he had gotten not only five weeks ago.

Anxiety began to pool in his gut. Where would he even go? The relationship with his family was worse than shit, and he didn’t even want to trek through the stormy wave of feelings that concerned his older twin brother. Letting out his feelings got him trapped into a looney bin, but it was better than living on the streets. The only reason he even had escaped was because one of the doctors was stupid enough to leave an anesthesia injection lying around in _Stanley Pine’s_ bedroom. Heh. He had truly gotten a kick out of that.

Suddenly, a knock at the door turned away all his thoughts, his sudden head turn leaving him with an empty feeling of dread that made his veins freeze. His movements seized altogether, sweat lining his brow as he thought of the suspenseful possibilities of who could be on the other side of the door.

Just then, a small postcard slipped through the door mail slot, the heavy sounds of footsteps drudging further away from the apartment flat. Until Stanley was certain that the postman was gone, his gaze slowly settled onto the letter, now more curious than frightened on what could be written on the message.

Bemused, Stanley would hesitantly walk towards it, carefully picking it up. For all he cared, it was another way to tell him to pay his increasingly high bills. On the front read in large letters, “GRAVITY FALLS.” Sighing, he flipped it over and began to read the contents.

_STANFORD PINES_

_618 GOPHER RD_

_GRAVITY FALLS, OR_

_Dear Stanley,_

_I am sorry to send this on such short notice, but something has come up. It is nothing dangerous, I assure you- but your estrangement from the family has concerned me. If it is no trouble, would you mind coming up to Oregon? I have made sure to write my address on the right side of the card._ _Please come!_

_STANLEY PINES_

_005 DEAD END FLATS,_

_NEW MEXICO_

Stan’s brows furrowed in confusion. Why the hell would Ford want to see him again? It was too much of a dream- and that was the problem. Was he in a sick, demented dream? Did Rico and his goons finally manage to catch up to his sorry ass, and beat the life out of him? Or was this simply a sick fantasy that tormented him in his own personal hell?

Fuck, he wasn’t a philosopher. And those neatly printed cursive letters were definitely Ford’s. He would recognize that nerdy handwriting anywhere, no matter how much he tried to forget. Though the question remained, perhaps something that Ford himself would not be able to answer, why the hell would Ford want anything to do with him? Stanley had apparently ruined Ford’s life and his dreaming chances of ever actually _being_ someone.

To hell with it- he would either go to Gravity Falls or die trying.

\---

It would take about 20 hours to arrive at his destination, and Stanley was pretty sure he would need more than $5.00 and a couple of lint in his pocket to get to Oregon unscathed. Stan was just lucky enough he was able to get Jorge off of his tail. Didn’t want Sixer to worry about a goddamn druglord and friends chasing his own sorry behind.

Funnily enough, these drives reminded him of those Columbian days attempting to escape prison, a short period of his life in which he actually wore glasses. And those even longer Columbian nights spent driving away from those he had used to escape said jail, after they themselves had caught up to him. But nobody had ever really caught Stanley Pines. How could you con a con artist?

Stanley still felt incredulous about this whole thing. Maybe Ford finally realized that Stan’s own life was ruined over an accident, and their father was a dramatic piece of shit?

Yeah, right.

* * *

“Stan? Are you alright?” Fiddleford asked, concerned, flashing behind his glass spectacles. He had been watching Ford’s jittery movements for the past two minutes now, and the man’s demeanor had kept shifting from somber to frustrated. Now, Ford was sitting on a chair, hands clasped with his fundamental groove between his fingers and upper lip resting on his middle.

Ford was snapped out of his stupor, slowly raising his head with a lined brow. “Don’t call me that,” he muttered. “Nobody does.” With that, Ford turned his body away, still in profound reflection. He untangled his hands away from each other, slamming them onto the table instead.

“Ford! I’ve had it up to here with your petty tantrums- alright? Tell me why you’re acting madder than a wet hen, or so _help me!_ ” Fiddleford had enough of this. Honestly, he was just tired and wanted to go to see his wife and child back in Tennessee. The portal work was getting to be exhausting, and he was able to see the effects it had on his work partner. 

There was a pause, but only for a moment, as Ford heavily exhaled. “I haven’t told you much about my family, have I?” Stanford would get up from the chair, striding towards the other end of the room. His coattails would flow behind him, a beckon for Fiddleford to follow him. 

The southerner would hesitate but reluctantly accompanied his employer. “You told me about the one who ruined your life ‘n all.” Fiddleford pointed out, watching as Ford’s body stiffen and hands clench. He would peer over Ford’s shoulder, eyebrows lifting with surprise at a vintage photo. Two small children stood on a heavily beat-up boat, t-shirts flailing proudly in the wind. Their postures were that of naive confidence, grins plastered on their childish, chubby faces. One he recognized as Ford, and the other…

“...I reckon that’s him?” Fiddleford would finally ask after a beat of silence. He would clasp a shoulder onto Stanford, a gesture that seeped with sympathy. Fiddleford had grown up with many siblings, as he was raised on a farm. Charm and luck were some of the traits he had inherited, as well as the mastery of taking care of younger ones. He could imagine one of his siblings breaking his life-long’s work, but hating them forever because of it? Fiddleford did not want to dwell on that idea. Looking at Stanford, he could tell that it had done its damage to the man.

Ford coughed, an attempt to break the awkwardness of the situation. “Yes. He was- is- my twin brother.” he would pocket the photograph, much to the confusion of Fiddleford, and paced towards the window. His arms were folded behind him, watching the window as if it were the looking-glass. There was a flicker of regret and _pain_ , but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

“That’s fine and dandy, but… what exactly are ya trying to convey here?” Fiddleford asked in discomfort, feeling uneasy about the build-up of the situation. 

“Listen, Fiddleford. My… my mother called me- she wants me to make up with... Stan. I’ve already sent him a postcard.” Ford would capitulate, looking fixedly at Fiddleford to witness his reaction.

“...Alright, then. It woulda been nice if ya told me beforehand, but I can’t expect much from you,” the engineer would confess, muttering something under his breath. 

“What? What is that supposed to mean? Are you implying something?” Ford was about to go on a rant, his finger already raised, and his journal in one palm to contextualize his points.

Fiddleford rubbed the back of his nape. “Ah… nothing. ‘M just curious about something now.” the pang of spit crashing on a bucket was heard, making Ford recoil in disgust. If Stanford was going to have his twin brother over, then Fiddleford needed to do some questioning. Obviously, Ford was not much of an emotional person, and he intended to try and understand what exactly was fueling the other man’s thoughts, besides portal work. He had seemed a mess not even two days ago.

Stanford tilted his head like a confused owl. “About?” 

“What happened to him?” 

Those words had caught him like a snare. His brain searched for an answer, his heart began to pump harder and harder and _harder_ , and suddenly he was suffocating. _You don’t understand how it feels, Shermie,_ a young Ford had told his older brother. _Sometimes, I’m not even my own person. Sometimes, it’s_ **_suffocating_ ** _._

_A seventeen-year-old Ford pushed the Stan-O-War onto the shoreline, striking his match and letting the sailboat catch aflame. He would watch it drift away, the current pulling the broken childhood dream further and further. The waves would swallow up the driftwood, the nautical twilight above setting the final scene for his last days on the beach._

_You ruined it all for me,_ he remembered thinking. _For that, I will never forgive you._

“I don’t know,” Ford confessed, the words making him feel heavier and heavier with an unknown feeling. He added on, a lie. “Frankly, I do not think that it matters.” 

“But…” Fiddleford wanted to continue, but Ford…

“You don’t fully understand my situation, Fiddleford. That’s completely fine- but I do not want you feeling bad for a selfish person like my brother. He’s… rather charming, in that way. I would not hold it against you if you fall for his tricks.”

_He’s tricked me for 17 years, after all. I would know._

“Aren’t you being unreasonable?” Fiddleford interjected. “You did say that he was kicked out, didn’t ya? He didn’t even graduate high school by then.”

Stanford narrowed his eyes. “What does that have to do with anything? Had he not been meddling around with my project like a toy, he would not have had to suffer the consequences of his actions.”

“But did he intentionally destroy it?” the scrawnier man interrogated.

“Of course he did! He ruined my chances to go to West Coast Tech because he couldn’t handle the thought of me leaving him.” Ford sputtered. How dare Fiddleford make him seem like a bad guy? He was the one whose potential was wasted, who had to go to a crummy run-of-the-mill college! The school was rampant with hippies and the dorms with cockroaches. Fiddleford was the only person who could even stand on his level.

“Did it ever occur to you of what he went through? He was only 17, Ford! Yer brother was homeless!” Fiddleford tried to reason, attempting to ground a solid point for his friend to get through his thick skull. 

Ford went numb. That wasn’t possible. How could his brother be homeless? His charming, free-spirited brother is homeless? That idea alone was preposterous. Stanley always had tricks up his sleeves, whether it was scamming or stealing or conning. Stan always ended up okay in the end, and that was enough for Ford.

“Stop defending him. He had his own car,” Ford would pinch the bridge of his nose. His cynical view of his brother would remain the same.

“Ford, I’m not sure yer understanding what I’m saying. Your dream was to study anomalies ‘n all, wasn’t it?”

Ford nodded, unsure of where this was going. “And? I had to work extra hard to even pay for this house and get a grant. Plus my loans-!”

“And nothing, Stanferd! You’re here right now, aren’t ya? While you don’t even know what your brother is up ta!”

The anomaly researcher would slowly blink. What was Stanley up to? He could not even name one thing his brother had done for the life of him. He had seen his brother on the beach searching for treasure, and a few of his advertisements, but after that? There was nothing. Ford had thought his brother had stricken it rich. That maybe he would come back to the pawnshop to flaunt his findings in front of his father. Unfortunately for both of them, that never happened.

Ford shuddered, feeling as if a ghostly touch had trailed over the smooth curvature of his spine. He felt cold. Had Stanley felt cold? Had Stanley curled up into a ball inside his car, shivering himself to sleep? Had Stanley been hurt? How many times had Stanley gone without food, crying that the pain would stop?

The dwelling thoughts made Ford’s gut twist, the realization of Fiddleford’s arguments dawning upon him in a new light. _What about what Bill said?_ Stanford was suddenly skeptical, a new interest forming on what happened during his younger twin’s 10 years apart.

As he looked up to stare retrospectively at Fiddleford, there was only one single thought that had formed in his mind. 

_What would Bill think?_

Just then, there was a knock on the door that startled both men.


	3. Awkward meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stanley finally arrives, and Bill and Ford have a small chat.

Stanley leaned against his El Diablo, one arm draped across his chest while the other held out a cigarette. His hand was held outward, the camel stud sitting behind his second knuckle of his index finger and index finger. His lighter was enclosed within the palm of his other hand, thumb resting on the button. Stan’s legs were crossed, letting the night zephyr dishevel his brown locks.

The man was already in Oregon, but not at Gravity Falls just yet. It seemed that the small town was so remote that it was barely on any maps he had seen throughout his travels, yet it lay far beyond the pacific northwest. 

“Why am I here again..?” he muttered to nobody but himself. The streets were vast with no cars or people in sight, the distinctive yellow lights of establishments with workers now covered with a well-placed curtain. _You’re here because Ma cares about you,_ he would remind himself. 

Stan could clearly remember the woman’s words, playing like a broken record in his equally broken mind. “Your father is a pigheaded kinda stubborn,” she had told him, her voice softening as she added, “but I know that your brother will come around. I’ll make ‘im.” He could imagine her winking at the end, and it seemed to have worked if Ford sent him a postcard. Deep down, Stanley knew that Stanford was only being courteous. While he took mostly after his mother’s charm, Ford had always been a horrible liar and even worse at conveying or understanding emotions. 

Even then, it still seemed like Ford had not gotten better at that sort of thing over the years. Anyone could see through the facade Ford had created, right? The postcard was nothing but thanks to his mother, Stanley had no part in the matter nor any say.

Stanley’s head had begun to hurt. He didn’t want to think about Stanford or the family that wronged him- he just wanted to sleep, and at this point, he didn’t care where he would. With a disgruntled suspire, he would drop the cigarette and stub out the cherry with the heel of his shoe. He would unlock the car door, getting ready for another unbearable night.

* * *

A huge billboard with large letters splayed across read: _WELCOME TO GRAVITY FALLS._ It was exactly the same as the postcard cover displayed. The town looked small, but its outskirts were dotted with pine forests and countless fir trees.

The snow had proved to be a nuisance, and Stanley was glad he at least had half a tank of gas left in his mobile. Headlights turned on, he managed to drive safely into the town, where a light snow was drizzling down. Usually, he was a reckless driver, but with the slippery roads and thin sheets of ice, he did not want to skid off of the road and die before meeting with his twin brother.

Stanley’s stomach growled, and it was only until now that he realized he hadn’t eaten for a day. He would carefully park outside of a convenience store, hoping that he had some money left after a random pickpocket from a Utahn. 

As he stepped inside, he was instantly met with a secure warmth. The Dusk 2 Dawn only had two employees, one old man and one old woman. The burning sensation of someone burning daggers into his back made him feel uneasy, his fingers instinctively tugging at the strings of his greasy jacket.

Stan would place the loaf of bread onto the counter, digging into his pockets for money. 

Nothing.

“Hey, aren’t you that sciency guy that lives up in those woods?” a woman’s voice cut through his panicked thoughts.

Other customers began to turn around at the sudden voice break, their eyes lighting up with distant recognition as they noticed him. They began to crowd around Stan, making him feel sick to his stomach.

Stanley would raise his hands up by his shoulders, an easy grin falling onto his face that did not meet his eyes. “Woah, woah. What are you all on about?” he would question, intertwining a humorful resonance to his probe. 

The man on the counter would eye him with a smile on his face. “Well, I’ll be! Never thought I’d see your face around here. Right, darlin’?” he would tease, wrapping an arm around his wife’s shoulder.

“Thas right. No need to be nervous, hun!” the old woman would reassure Stanley.

“I bet he has all sorts of cool gizmos, right?” another voice from the crowd piped up.

  
“They say at night, you can see a blue glow coming from his house.”

“No way! I heard that he has some secret experiment hiding in the woods.”

A blend of different excited and curious murmurs erupted throughout the store, the owners taking part in the conversation as well.

Stanley rolled his eyes. Had his brother been so much of a hermit he had become an urban legend? The folks here were happy, but they were quite odd.

“Alright, listen. I’m not whoever you think I am. I’m just his twin comin’ in for a visit. Nothing more, nothing less,” Stanley finally voiced aloud.

“Oh? You’re family?” a man with rich black skin asked, a tall, skinny white male by his side.

“We don’t get many tourists around here, y’know? It’s so exciting to see a new face!” a younger woman responded.

Stanley rubbed at his glabellar lines, feeling frustrated. Though he didn’t mind the attention, he wanted to get the visit with his brother over already. They could yell at each other, and Stanley could fuck off from Stanford’s life, just like his older twin wanted him to, except forever this time. Their mother wouldn’t be happy, but closure was closure.

“That’s great and all, but I have places to be,” Stan would respond, eyes half-lidded with disinterest. He would turn to walk away, leaving the loaf on the counter, but froze in his tracks as the old man called over to him.

“Well, where ya going son? Take your bread, on the house for you!” the two elders shared a smile, waiting for the younger man.

Stanley would slowly turn around, furrowing his brows. He would quickly analyze both of them for any sort of mocking on their faces, but they both sported a good-natured expression. The people around him seemed amused at most, their initial staring escalating to that of (rather pointless, he would say) excitement.

“Thanks,” he would mumble, nodding his head gratefully before leaving. He would still be able to feel the stares, but it was no burn this time. His stomach felt like butterflies, and he realized he hadn’t put on his usual salesman frontier like he usually did with any other outsiders. _You don’t care about them,_ he scolded himself, but the small curl of his lips said otherwise.

* * *

Stan would use a vacant space to settle his car, still feeling like an outsider. Despite Ford’s postcard pleading with him to come, the signs outside made him want to turn around and never return. The cabin seemed oddly boarded up, recalling seeing a tripwire fence around the uphill forest region while he was driving by.

With his duffel bag hanging on his shoulder, he would steadily make his way towards the cabin. The snow crunched beneath his muddy boots, a forceful gust of wind making him pull his beanie further down. “Hokay,” he breathed out, pressing his fingers together. “You haven’t seen your brother in over 10 years,” he began, his knuckles steady on the wooden surface of the door. “He’s family, he won’t bite.” With that as a reassurance, he would hesitantly knock.

The door would stay closed for a few seconds before multiple locks being unlatched was heard. Finally, an audible soft click turned the door open, his twin brother’s face in view. 

“Stanley?” Stanford would ask rhetorically, eyes widening in recognition. Stanley’s appearance was rougher around the edges, with eyebags beneath his lashes, and a mullet.

“Stanford?” 

Stanley’s shoulder bag would slowly fall off as his posture stiffened less. “Ford!” he repeated, jumping into his twin brother’s arms. He would bury his face against Stanford’s chest, arms wrapped around the older male’s torso. 

Stanford would jump in surprise, his arms wrenched out awkwardly. He was about to gradually push Stanley off of him, but the pointed glare Fiddleford was giving him made him reconsider his options. Carefully, he would wrap his arms around his brother and return the hug. 

After several seconds, Stanley would realize what he had done. “Ford, I didn’t mean…”

Stanford would cough into his fist, their reunion still mildly troubling him. “It’s fine. Come inside, you must be tired,” he would stretch out his palm towards the rest of the inside of the cabin, his other arm behind his back.

As Stanley entered, he got a good look at the place. Documents and papers littered the place, but that was to be expected of a nerdy genius like his brother. His boots would step onto the rug, a triangle with one eye embroidered neatly onto the thick, woven material.

“Howdy!” a man would exclaim, banjo held with one hand. “Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, researcher and partner of your brothers. Real nice to finally meet ya, Stanley Pines,”

An excitable tune would be played by the Southern man, slapping his knee to finish it off. He would look expectantly at Stanley, who had his mouth agape. Stan would clamp his jaw, a smirk growing on his face. “So you’ve heard of me, huh? What’d they say? That I’m a real charmer, or that I owe ‘em a few bucks?” He would extend a hand to shake with the engineer, a mischievous twinkle sparkling in his eye.

Fiddleford laughed, meeting his hand halfway to shake it. “Finally someone who appreciates mah sound. Yer brothers quite an uptight fellow!” 

“Don’t I know it,” Stanley would whistle. The drifter would take a seat on the couch, watching as Fiddleford did the same.

“So, where’d ya come from? From the looks of it, I’d say Idaho. Didn’t take ya long like Stanford said ya would,” Fiddleford pointed out, curious on Stanley’s whereabouts.

“Oh, really?” Stan would query, noticing how his skin had turned into a pale color. “What’d he say about me?” _Nothing nice, if you were to guess,_ he would almost snort at that thought. True, but sad.

“Ah,” Fiddleford would turn increasingly uncomfortable, his hands moving to scratch the back of his head. The Southerner would avert his gaze from Stan, turning back when he heard the male in question groan lightly. 

Stanley blinked, rubbing his eyes. Dots covered his vision, and he suddenly felt so tired and cold. The exhaustion that he had ignored in favor of driving to Oregon was now creeping up on him, blasting him with full force. For a moment, Stan’s body would slightly waver, his body attempting to fight off the sleep due to the second nature he had picked up on the streets. Dizziness clouded his vision, the hurt in his stomach returning as the growing pains reached its maximum. 

He felt his head hit the arm of the couch, Fiddleford’s worried gasp being muffled by his heightening fatigue, and suddenly, there was nothing but darkness

* * *

Stanley awoke to a soft mattress, groaning as he turned his head. Just then, a door was quietly opened as Stanford entered the room, holding what seemed to be a bowl.

Stan sat up, a notion in which Ford did not seem to like.

“Lee- you- you passed out on the couch,” Ford explained, setting the bowl on the dresser.

“Wha..?” Stan would ask drearily, feeling bile rise up in his throat. He clutched his stomach, feeling Ford’s hand on his shoulder. Stanley would fold his hands together, a nervous tic Ford recognized from his early teenage years.

Ford’s brow furrowed, staring incredulously at Stan. “Why didn’t you tell me you were malnourished? I could have helped- I could have…” he trailed off, then shook his head at the sentence that was completed in his head.

“Would you?” 

Ford would only stare at him with a bemused expression, then lifted up the bowl of soup to feed him. “Careful,” he warned. “It’s a little hot,”

Stan would shrug, taking the spoon and feeding himself. His stomach clenched, obviously not agreeing. He would cover his mouth with his arm, feeling the food crawl back up to his throat. Stan would turn to the side, vomiting on the sheets and on the floor.

Ford winced at that, happy to remember that it was Fiddleford’s turn to wash the sheets.

It was definitely going to be a long day.

* * *

Night had taken its toll on the sleepy town of Gravity Falls. Fiddleford had already settled into bed, and Stanley had passed out several hours ago. Meanwhile, Stanford had taken it upon himself to peer review the last few equations Bill had laid out for him.

Ford yawned, stretching his arms and legs out in front of him. His fingers would reach up to the rim of his glasses, adjusting the frames upwards to balance on his nose. He didn’t realize how much his spine hurt, back cracking as he twisted side to side. Pencil gradually slipping from his index finger, his head would nestle between the pages of his journal and arms. His eyes would droop, slowly closing as he eventually fell into a deep slumber.

As usual, Ford found himself in his Dreamscape. It was routine at this point, to wake up floating in midair and chatting with Bill about what the future held for them.

**_“HIYA, SMART GUY!”_ **

Stanford spun around at the sound of the nasally voice, naturally settling onto a seat which Bill had conjured. He would nod curtly at the dream demon, a smile forming on his face. “Bill,” he began. “Have you got anything new to show me?”

Bill would only stare at him, eye scrunching. **_“I HEARD THAT OL’ BRUISER CAME BACK,”_ **The demon’s triangular structure would increase in size, circling around Stanford. 

Ford blinked. “You mean - Stanley?” _But why would Bill be concerned? I thought he would like the extra help on the portal!_

**_“YEAH, THAT GUY,”_ **

“It’s a work in progress, but more people working on the portal will definitely speed things- a bigger change of pace,” Ford was about to continue on with his rambling but was cut off.

**_“LISTEN, SIXER,”_ ** Bill interjected. **_“I LIKE YOUR BROTHER, I REALLY DO! BUT - I’M AFRAID WE DON’T EXACTLY SEE EYE TO EYE ON SOME THINGS.”_ **

Ford frowned. “What do you mean? I’m sure he’ll listen if I explain-”

**_“THAT’S NOT WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT, IQ. I’M TALKING ABOUT THE FUTURE HERE. YOUR FUTURE, TO BE EXACT.”_ **

“My future? I thought that was already established,” Ford’s voice wavered slightly, confused at his muse’s misgiven.

**_“DO YOU THINK YOUR BROTHER WON’T FIND A WAY TO MESS THINGS UP AGAIN? HE HASN’T EXACTLY CHANGED HIS WAYS,”_ **Bill reasoned, a holographic feed of Stanley’s conning and commercial tricks showing up as a video film.

Stanford bit his lip, then shook his head. “He… he won’t be a burden, Bill. If I can keep this a secret from Fiddleford, surely I can do the same with my twin,”

**_“BUT YOU DON’T KNOW HIM THAT WELL, DO YOU? MY POINT IS THAT YOU CAN TRY, BUT HE’LL ALWAYS FIND A WAY TO INSERT HIMSELF IN. IT’S WHAT HE’S BEST AT,”_ **

...It was true, wasn’t it? He didn’t know his brother at _all._ It was quite sad. When Ford and Stan were children, they could always tell each other their problems or lay their heads against one another’s shoulder as a means of comfort. Now, there was an unspoken tension that was heavy in the air every time they interacted.

“Well…” Ford had nothing to say after that, his mouth losing the ability to speak after Bill’s words rang in his head. 

Bill placed a hand on Ford’s shoulder. **_“HEY, LOOK ON THE BRIGHT SIDE! YOU DON’T NEED HIM! YOU’LL BE THE MAN WHO CHANGED THE WORLD, WON’T YOU? AND THEN AFTER THAT - YOU CAN PLAY SAILBOAT WITH HIM FOR ALL OF ETERNITY,”_ **

Ford cracked a smile at those words, but the way they were said made him squirm in his chair, an itch that could not be scratched.

“You’re right, Bill. You always are, I suppose,” he would whisper, the Dreamscape fading into obscurity the more his body awoke.

**_“DON’T FORGET!”_ ** Bill told him before he fully descended. **_“THINGS CHANGE,”_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for waiting, I tried to put the chapter out sooner but.. you guys know how school is -_-


	4. Triangles are my favorite shape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford realizes something thanks to his friend, Bill.

Stanley woke up to a dimly lit room, his eyes sore from the flashing of the bulb that hung overhead. He pushed aside the draped wool blankets, feeling the crisp morning air set his stomach acids aflame. His palm gently pressed against his forehead, temples glistening with sweat. Sitting up against the headboard of the bed, he vaguely remembered the events of last night. 

The bitter taste of bile mixed with tongue saliva made him scrunch his face with disgust. While his nerdy twin brother had blethered about a “refeeding syndrome” and “glucose,” Stanley had remained oddly compliant and quiet. What else could he have done, when his stomach was bloated and he felt exhausted to the point of hallucinations?

Stanley attempted to sit upright, legs crisscrossing each other. He flexed his fingers, pressing his palms together to calm himself down. The heavy footsteps of his twin brother made Stan frown, gaze fixated on the sweaty, damp bedsheets. _Why am I such an inconvenience?_

“Stanley? Are you awake?” Stanford appeared by the doorframe, mouth shaped into a thin line. Ford hesitantly walked inside of the room, shoes shuffling against the fuzzy carpet.   
“How are you feeling?”

“Just peachy, Sixer,” Stanley responded, lacking visible emotion.

Ford coughed into his knuckles. “Yes, well, I believe that it would be wise to take you to a hospital. Surely-”

“No,”

….

“What?” Ford’s expression morphed into that of confusion.

Frustration arose in Stan as Ford gave him a blank look. “Poindexter, I don’t exactly have the nicest record out there. I don’t even wanna mention the amount of fake IDs I have,” _I don’t have money, either._

Ford stayed quiet for several seconds. “Then you will drink enriched milk. It has Vitamin D, and it will help you before I allow you to eat rations,”

“Tch. You’re acting like Mom after I overdosed on Ovaltine,” Stan whined, objecting at the thought of Ford coddling him like he was a scandalous teenager again.

They both chuckled at that. “I wouldn’t want that to happen again, now would I?” Ford smiled, allowing himself to relax and ease the tension for once. _I don’t want you to leave, because I hadn’t realized how much I missed this._

* * *

Fiddleford laughed at a joke Emma-May- his wife- had told him. His fingers curled around the red cord of the rotary telephone, thumb idle on the receiver. “So, how’s our little tater tot doin’? He’s not gettin’ into trouble now, is he?”

“Nope!” Emma-May’s cheerful voice sounded. “But Tate misses you a bunch,” she confirmed. Another squeaky voice clashed against the woman’s, muffled by grabby hands on the device. 

“HI DADDY!” Tate giggled. “Will you come home for Christmas? Puh-leaase?” Fiddleford could practically _see_ his son doing puppy eyes, excitement clear from the gasping breaths.

“Of course! Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Fiddleford grinned, though it faltered. “How ya doing? Your grades okay? Need any help?”

“Daaad! I’m fine on my own! Besides, I’ve got Ma here to help me!” The question sounded ridiculous to the small child, but Fiddleford felt content to hear those words from Tate himself.

“Good to know, Tater Tot. Ya better be ready for your present when I get back home, y’hear?”

“Loud and clear, sir!” Tate mocked.

“Excellent! Now, would you mind passing it over to your mother? I needa speak to her,”

“Okay,” Tate replied. “Bye, daddy!”

Fiddleford smiled. “Bye, Tate. Be good,”

The line went silent for a moment until a sweet voice resonated through the line. “Bless his sweet lil' heart,” Emma cooed.

“Yeah…” Fiddleford’s eyes became clouded with guilt. “Listen, May, I… I don’t know if I can make it home,”

A hush fell over the two. “Why? Stanford can’t possibly believe that your work is more important than family,” Emma’s voice became quieter, a non-verbal reminder to be considerate of Tate.

Fiddleford scratched his head nervously. “I don’t know, May. I’m trying, I am! But-”

“Now you hush up, Fiddleford! I know that if anyone can knock some sense into that man, it’ll be you!” Emma’s anger was justified, albeit her voice softened as she continued on. “Fidds, you know how concerned I am about you. You hardly ever call anymore,”

The engineer sighed. “I-I know. I’m beginnin’ to doubt Stanford, though. Not because of his smarts, he’s got plenty o’ those! But what we’re working on… It’s dangerous, May. I.. I don’t reckon I can handle it,”

Emma gasped. “But you’ve worked so hard on it. Are you sure you want to quit? I want to see you again, but I don’t want you leaving with doubts in mind, sugar,”

“I think I’ll be fine,” Fiddleford reassured. “Besides… I- oh, wait. I haven’t told ya about Stanford’s twin brother yet, now have I?”

“Oh?” Emma questioned, now curious. “Twin brother? I hope he can influence your partner for the better, love,”

“Me too,” Fiddleford whispered. “I really hope so, too.”

* * *

Stanford hastily ran into his study, the second floor of the elevator. The room was dark, with large portraits and artifacts of Bill Cipher throughout the room. Dispersive prisms were aligned in 3’s, the natural light broken up into its spectral colors. The rug had the notable all-seeing eye pattern, the triangles in the center of dangling banners staring at him.

Bill Cipher was etched into his room, his house, his mind, his soul. The papers that were scrawled with triangles were spread throughout the small shrine. An obsession that made him feel elated and important and _special._

Bill had fed his passion and indulged him into the worlds that lay outside his dimensional reality. While humans were subjected to the infinite loop of their unknowledgeable plane of existence, Stanford was beyond grateful to have met someone with such omnipotence. It was only expected of him to have made a deal with the two-dimensional being, for only Bill could break the never-ending cycle that burdened humanity.

It was for the betterment of science and the continuous evolution that humans would (forcibly) sustain, even if it killed them. It would all be thanks to Stanford, and Bill had said it was in his future for him to change the world- did he not? Undergoing these changes would only mean a positive influence on his fellow human species.

Stanford worshipped Bill, and Bill returned his devoted following for the understanding of Gravity Falls, to know what weird dimension had leaked into his own. The roadblock in his research had hindered him to no end, but it also caused the discovery of Bill. For that, he was thankful.

His journals lay spread across the wooden desk, reflection spread through the golden imprint of his six-fingered hand.

On the other side of the room was Stanford’s ritual place. The candles had been previously lit, the center of the rug waiting patiently for Ford. As he carefully made his way over for meditation, the elevator dial dinging caught his attention.

“Stanferd? You in here?” Fiddleford’s meek voice called out, unaware of the sitting figure on the other side.

“To your left,” Ford replied, voice echoing.

Fiddleford whistled, squinting his eyes into the darkness. “It’s awfully dark in here. Mind if I turn on the lights?”

“Yes, actually. There’s a lantern on the desk. You should be able to see your work fine with that,” Ford assured. Bill had not wanted to be found out just yet, and Ford respected his muse’s choice.

“...Alright,” Fiddleford grudgingly accepted. He knew that Ford could be as stubborn as a mule sometimes.

The scientists got into their positions, one excited, the other concerned. 

Fiddleford stood up straight, clutching his clipboard like a lifeline. He jotted down a few notes, easily going through the numbers and calculations necessary for the remaining pieces of the portal. With knit brows, Fiddleford remembered the assembly of parts they still needed to finish the lower half of the gigantic machine. He definitely had to remind Ford.

Ford was in a deep state of astral projection, legs crossed and fingers extended outward to create an “o” shape using his index finger and thumb. The anomaly researcher lay still, an intensive amount of concentration fusing like an outlet in his brain.

**_“I DIDN’T THINK I WOULD SEE YOU SO SOON! HOW’S IT HANGING, IQ?”_ ** Bill’s body surrounded Stanford, the geometric pattern of triangles tessellating filling his vision. The shapes morphed, bright golden yellow bricks easily assembling into a smoothed out polygon. Familiar black arms and legs burst out of the form, a cane effortlessly popping into existence. Bill hovered over towards him, a brow extended and arm twiddling with the rod.

**_“WELL?”_ ** Bill probed after receiving no answer. 

“It is news about the portal. Fiddleford and I are running low on parts, so I assume he will remind me later to gather parts from the UFO crash. I thought I could invite Stanley as well-”

**_“HEY, HEY! DIDN’T I TELL YOU TO NOT TO INCLUDE STANLEY?”_ ** Bill sighed dramatically. **_“HONESTLY SIXER, IF YOU WEREN’T GOING TO LISTEN TO ME - THEN WHY AM I STILL EVEN HERE? I GOT BETTER THINGS TO DO,”_ **

“Wait! Don’t go, Bill!” Ford stretched his hand out, panic surfacing on the man’s features. “I don’t want to keep either of them in the dark about you. But I also don’t doubt you at all, Bill,” the researcher shook his head.

**_“THEN LISTEN TO ME. YOU HAVEN’T TOLD GLASSES, BUT MACKEREL WILL FIND OUT EVENTUALLY. AND WHEN HE DOES…”_ **Bill showcased a scene of Stan and Ford arguing, disagreeing about something. Stan held up a lighter, Ford’s first journal on the other hand. 

Ford bristled at the scene. How dare Stanley attempt to ruin one of Ford’s works again?! The amount of audacity his twin brother still had made Ford absolutely furious. Stanford felt so stupid and _used_. Of course, nothing they had gone through these past few days mattered to Stanley. His younger twin brother remained a selfish, worthless liar. It did not matter what they were fighting about in the vision, Stanley should know better than to threaten his projects.

Stanford laughed apathetically, hands dangling pathetically at his sides. His frozen shock appeared on his physical body, eyes glowing yellow. Fiddleford glanced over at him with suspicion, but only after Ford had shut his eyes to return to the newly given information. “...As always, you’re right, Bill.” He knew that the only person he could truly trust would always be Bill.

**_“YEAH, YEAH. WHAT’D I TELL YOU? NOW, ABOUT THAT CAUSE AND EFFECT QUESTION…”_ **

\---

“Ford? You okay there, pal?” Fiddleford asked, scrutinizing the man before him. Ford’s hair was thoroughly disheveled, curly brown strands of hair knotted at the ends.

Ford looked up at him, eyes glazed with a haunting guilt.

_A naïve Stanford stood below Bill, not able to fathom the thought process of his new muse. How could he fabricate such a deception like that? To his best friend, no less! “That would be lying, wouldn’t it?”_

_Bill narrowed his eye._ **_“A LITTLE TIP FROM SOMEONE WHO’S BEEN AROUND THE BLOCK, SIXER,”_ ** _the dream demon began, the flinch at the nickname not going unnoticed._ **_“TRUTH” IS A TATTLETALE WITH NO FRIENDS. LIE UNTIL YOU CONFUSE IT WITH THE TRUTH. LIE UNTIL YOU BELIEVE IT, TOO. LIE UNTIL YOU CAN’T ANYMORE.”_ **

The memory scabbed at Ford’s brain, unable to process the engineer with a worried expression. “Of course I am! Why wouldn’t I be?” The words came out much more aggressive than intended, which forced him to take the bite out of his words. “In all seriousness, Fiddleford, I am fine. Tomorrow- we can construct more of the portal by gathering parts in the fallen aircraft,”

“Oh? You remembered? I was about to remind you, actually.” Fiddleford patted his shoulder. “Don’t burn yourself out, Ford. I can’t take care of two Pines,” he chuckled at his own joke, walking off with an unusually fast pace.

Ford gulped, feeling the air being taken out of his lungs. Stanley was the root of his problems. How could Ford let himself stoop so low? Of course, he appreciated his brother, but from a distance. Like a… what did Bill call his twin? A mackerel? Those fish had a dangerous amount of mercury in them. 

Should he check on Stanley? No, no… Fiddleford had already dropped the hint that he checked up on his twin, so there was no need for Ford to double-check. God, he was hungry. Fiddleford usually did the shopping trips, but since Fiddleford was busy…

_Do I really have to do this?_ His stomach growled in response. Shamefully, Ford exited the house and headed out to the marketplace.

The snow had calmed down, but the weather was still freezing outside. Mountains of snow capped the hilltops, the flowers coated with icy, crystal-like structures that shimmered in the sun snow shower. Stanford dug his hands into his coat pockets, his breath coming in long puffs of cold air. _Condensation,_ he drawled, _is when water vapor condenses into liquid water and solid water._

Stanford entered the convenience store, his eyes scanning for items to make an easy meal for tonight. The watchful eyes of his peers, however, made him suspicious. “What?” Ford voiced aloud, staring at the child who was gaping at him.

“S-Sorry!” the boy held his hands up. The boy was about 8 or 9, a chubby kid with a red shirt that read “PIZZA” and a festive party hat on his head. “It’s just… you look like the guy who came to the store here a few days ago! You’re not like, his evil twin or something..?”

“That’s no evil twin!” an upbeat voice called. It was a teenage Hispanic girl, with long red hair that was held up by a yellow polka-dotted scrunchie. “You’re the mad scientist genius guy who lives in the woods, right?”

Ford scowled at the fact he was being scrutinized. “You wouldn’t be able to comprehend-”

“Hey, hey! Easy on him, guys!” A loud voice bellowed. Ford recognized this person- it was “Boyish” Dan Corduroy, the older teenager who had helped build his house.

“Thank you, but I must be going now,” Ford raised his hand as a goodbye, stomping out of the convenience store angrily, but not before he paid, of course.

How dare those barbarians confront him like he was some kind of animal to be ogled at? And why did they care so much for him? Ford hadn’t even talked to either of them properly. The only reason he ever got out of his house was to write in his journal and look for anomalies. He didn’t really think about the people here, and how odd they could be, too. It was something he had overlooked.

Perhaps some tests needed to be done. Perhaps the people weren’t as bad as he made them seem. They wanted to get to know him, but he was too deep into his mysteries to even realize. Ford was reluctant to trust them, though. Would they even accept him? _Of course, they would_ , a chipper voice in his head responded. _They are intrigued by you._

Another voice cut through his head. _No! You don’t need another distraction, remember? Bill told us he’s worried about us. That we will be diverted from our goal because of these people. Stanley isn’t the only obstacle in the way._ That was true. He didn’t want to be preoccupied with satisfying the fascination of the simple-minded civilians of the town. Ford made curt talk with them. What else could they possibly want?

_They want to know you,_ a voice rationalized. _You are part of the town. The people here are very accepting, don’t you know?_

_Bill is watching,_ the other voice reminded. And that was all Ford needed to decide. Bill was counting on him to do his part. After they constructed the portal, Ford could do whatever he wanted. 

_But what do you really want?_ The voice questioned. Ford could not respond. How could he respond to someone that questioned his motives?

Head bowed, Ford made his way inside the cabin. He shut the door closed, bags scrunched in his hands. He placed them on the kitchen table, where he found Fiddleford writing a neat letter.

“Howdy, Ford! I see you got to the shoppin’ first,” Fiddleford waved without looking up, smiling as he wrote.

“Mhm,” Stanford muttered distractedly. “How’s - What are you doing?”

“Writin’ to my sweetie, what else?” A small trinket lay on the side, a gift for Tate, maybe.

“...Of course. We are going to that abandoned alien hovercraft, correct?” 

“Yeah, but that’s for tomorrow,” the Southerner waved off the topic like a pesky fly, more interested in the sappy love poem he was writing.

“I was thinking we could go right now. Surely, you’re not that busy?” Ford narrowed his eyes.

“Sweet Sally Ford, why d’ya look so jumpy? Ya told me we can go tomorrow, so I would like to stick with that plan,”

“Yes, but-”

A fresh voice interrupted both of them. “Watcha talking about?”

Stanford stiffened, growing increasingly panicked as he looked at his twin brother. Stanley looked much better than the day he arrived at the place. He still had a mullet, but it was less greasy than before and his clothes were much cleaner. A bright smile was on Stanley’s face, one that he had grown to recognize before trouble started.

“Shouldn’t you be resting? You’re still in critical condition!” Ford panicked, a dangerous edge to his tone.

“Relax, Sixer. Fiddlenerd said that I’m getting better, see?” Stanley pointed to his eyes, his skin noticeably healthier than before, eye bags slowly disappearing.

“Honestly, Fiddleford-” Ford began.

“Oh, would you quit it, Ford?” Fiddleford snapped, ignoring Stanley’s nickname for him. “He’s perfectly fine now, alright? He just needs a little sun now, is all,”

Stanley’s index finger rested above his chin, a devious grin on his face. “Well, where are you two going? Somethin’ about an alien?”

“It’s nothing-” Ford sputtered.

“Yep!” Fiddleford confirmed.

“Awesome. When are we leaving?” 

Ford could not believe this! “Stanley, you can’t go!” Was he seriously going to ignore the fact that Stanley was not ready for this trip, mentally and physically?

“Well, why not?” Stanley crossed his arms, legs taking a wider stance.

“You’re barely starting to get better. We need to be careful about your health-” **_HE ALWAYS FORCES HIMSELF INTO SITUATIONS._ ** Ford froze as he remembered Bill’s words, the drudging comprehension forcing itself into his brain.

“Oh, give me a break! I’ve had to deal with worse, y’know! I can handle myself just fine,” Stanley rolled his eyes. Did his brother think he was fragile? 

Fiddleford placed a hand tentatively on Stanley’s shoulder. “Yeah… Ford, it would do him some good to get some sunshine. Plus, it’s time that he knows about…” Fiddleford waved his hand around, referencing both the portal and the weirdness Gravity Falls extruded.

“...Fine,” Ford reluctantly gave in. “But you have to listen to what Fiddleford and I say. This is a dangerous mission that will require our full attention,”

“Ah, don’t be like that Ford. There are no dangers in that craft, all of ‘em were destroyed millions of years ago. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?” Fiddleford replied, an amiable smile growing on his face.

Unfortunately, the trio was about to find out just what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy late Halloween, I hope none of y'all actually went trick-or-treating... I hate COVID :T


End file.
